


it's perfectly strange (you run in my veins)

by Ashfell (textbookMobster), textbookMobster



Category: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Chronic Pain, F/F, Hanahaki Disease, Season 1 Spoilers, a tattoo version? who knows, i will not apologize for my dumb jokes, some coven system speculation, some world-building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26315677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/textbookMobster/pseuds/Ashfell, https://archiveofourown.org/users/textbookMobster/pseuds/textbookMobster
Summary: She does not see it coming. She can't; that's how you know it's dangerous.(Or: Luz wants to go home. Amity wants what she cannot have: Luz's happiness and for her to stay. The curse feeds, and feeds, and feeds.)
Relationships: Amity Blight/Luz Noceda
Comments: 34
Kudos: 234





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song "Wolves Without Teeth" by Of Monsters and Men.

The disease first takes shape on the base of her neck: little more than a leaf curling inwards, the colour of springtime. Amity, with her mind on other things—human things, coven things, in-between things—leaves the growth undisturbed. She does not see it coming. She can't; that's how you know it's dangerous, even by Boiling Isles' standards. 

Later, she wonders which came first: the habit of running her fingers along that first leaf, or the ink bleeding into the surface of her skin, wrapping around her almost possessively.

But those would come later. Right now, she's blissfully unaware, foot nearly healed, and under the scrutiny of her _dearest_ older siblings.

"Did you hear?" Edric asks, unprompted. He's buzzing with energy, teeth flashing in an easy smile.

"Of course she's already _heard_ , Edric. Everyone's heard by now," Emira drawls, though her expression says otherwise. She knows Amity hasn't been able to leave her room since she sprained her ankle. Beyond the rapid-fire updates from Penstagram and the vague opining from their local crystal ball channel, Amity is still mostly in the dark with regards to the events leading up to the escape—release?—of one Eda Clawthorne.

Amity tries not to enable her siblings' teasing and hides underneath her favourite _Good Witch_ volume. It's worked before.

"I bet she didn't hear about the part where Luz challenged Emperor Belos to a swordfight."

"A swordfight?" Amity sputters, throwing her (much beloved, dog-eared) book at Emira who catches it with all the grace of the eldest child. 

"Or that part where she had to kiss a sleeping frog prince."

"Really, Edric? Of all the stories you could have come up with, you went with a classic baby tale?"

"Shut it, both of you!" Amity pulls her blanket over her head and curls into herself. "Why are you guys even here?"

"To add to your misery, of course." The bed dips from Edric's weight. 

Amity feels his legs pressing against her back and groans. "Go away."

"Mittens, Mittens, Mittens. Don't you want the goss?" Edric nudges her with his big toe and almost falls out of the bed when Amity retaliates with a shove. 

Emira sniggers. "Or as the cool kids like to call it these days: the _hot_ topic?"

"Absolutely smokin', really."

"Or," Emira begins, voice dripping with honey, "are you looking for an excuse to visit the human, Luz?"

A finger pokes out from underneath the bluish-grey blanket, pointing downwards. Purple sparks fill the space as the finger draws a perfect circle. Beside Emira, an Abomination oozes into being. 

The twins are summarily chased out of Amity's bedroom.

However, the impulse to learn what happened lingers behind. Amity is used to Luz getting into troublesome situations but never troubling ones—never situations that involve the _emperor_ of all people. 

Luz makes Amity feel uncertain about the future. 

It thrills and terrifies her in equal measure. 

* * *

The trip to the Owl House, Luz’s home away from home, takes longer than Amity anticipates despite her healed foot. She's not hobbling exactly, but the trip does leave her out of breath a few times. 

(Had the healing tired her out more than she thought? Strange. She should be fine by now.) 

She almost shrieks when Hooty, the house’s security system, greets her from behind some bushes, cheerfully running his mouth off about some new bugs he's found. She gives him the side-eye: a single eyebrow raised, the promise of violence in the curl of her lips and the coolness of her gaze. Reluctantly, he slithers away, mumbling about witches who were no fun at all. 

She rolls her eyes and ducks under a low hanging branch, stepping into the clearing where Owl House stood in all its smug glory. She inhales and exhales, long and slow, willing herself to take the next step forward. She's just visiting. Normal friend behaviour. Pleasantly platonic. Just a gal asking after her pal. Whatever. She could do this. 

Hooty opens the door without preamble, leaving her little time to compose herself a second time. 

“Amity!”

She braces herself for the not-unwelcome hug that follows. It's a recent development, one that continues to baffle her. Her previous . . . posse hardly showed affection, preferring the exchange of gifts and favours when it came to communicating their fondness for each other. 

It's different with Luz who is warm and soft and effervescent. She trips face-first into Amity’s life, and the young witch wouldn't have it any other way. 

She returns Luz’s enthusiastic hug, fingers feather-light on Luz’s hoodie. The relief of seeing Luz safe and sound has her shuffling forward, gripping the fabric of Luz’s hoodie tighter, burying her face into the curve of Luz’s neck. It's impulsive and so unlike her, but Amity doesn't care. She wants to soak in the solidness of Luz's frame against hers and never let go.

She can feel Luz’s laughter before she hears it, and pulls away to meet Luz’s soft gaze, only turning softer. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she grumbles, ignoring the last thirty seconds when she had clung to Luz like an overly enthusiastic koala. She folds her arms and straightens her back, giving Luz a cursory glance to check for injuries. “I heard you caused a ruckus at the Conformitorium.”

“I always do.” Luz pauses before correcting herself: “Cause a ruckus I mean. I've only been to the Conformitorium one other time. I swear!”

“That's already one time too many,” Amity tsks and follows her inside. 

“Would you like some tea?” Luz asks. Amity, her eyes trained on Lilith, doesn't hear the question. They're sitting in the living room, a faraway part of her registers. They're sitting in the living room having tea like the last few days didn't just happen. Like Lilith wasn't responsible for Eda’s almost-petrification.

She's ready to summon an Abomination and tackle Lilith on the ground when she feels an arm coil around her. “What's she doing here?” Amity snarls, trying to pull herself free. 

Lilith sighs and rises to her feet. “I think that's my cue, Eda.” She's dressed sensibly: hobnail boots, tights under a long-sleeved dress, and a cloak made of midnight to keep her warm. 

“You'll come visit, won't you?”

“If you'll have me.” She reaches for Eda’s cheek and pulls away in an abortive gesture. “Until next time then.”

She leaves, back straight in an approximation of her former dignity. 

The silence that follows is too much for Amity. She sees the tiredness in Eda’s mismatched eyes and slumped shoulders; the frustration bleeding out of King’s small form; and the grief mixed with relief in the tight pinch of Luz’s face and the flex of her neck muscles. 

“Luz?”

Luz tugs at her wrist and drags her upstairs after waving goodbye to Eda and King. “I should probably tell you what happened, huh?”

Amity bumps Luz’s shoulder with hers. “That would help, yeah. Being out of the loop is kind of stressful.”

They settle on the floor in Luz’s room, sitting side by side on top of her sleeping bag. “So what do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

* * *

If they had lived, two human girls back on Earth, Amity would have compared Luz to the sun: warm and invigorating and brighter than any other light she's ever known. But the Boiling Isles equivalent is harsher, moodier, less restrained with the heat it gives off. It destroys life just as much as it sustains it. Perhaps Luz is the sun, even then, destroyer and life-giver both. 

But that's an unfair comparison. Luz cannot help but be who she is, kind and affectionate and so easy to love. 

Under the light of Luz’s presence, the vines that grip Amity grow, little by little, creeping down her spine, still curious—benign—like the clumsy revelatory high of a first crush. 


	2. Chapter 2

The story spills out, the words messy and unrefined, some threads loose, others knotted. This is no book report with special effects made by hers truly—a Noceda special. Instead, it is a story that creeps too close to home: one that is as triumphant as it is bittersweet. 

Amity’s gaze on her is steady, anchoring. She emanates comfort in a way that is uniquely hers, one hand holding Luz’s sleeve, her silence, a promise that Luz cannot yet name. She is solid ground. She keeps Luz upright.

Amity lets out a shaky breath when it is over and turns to face Luz’s bedroom door, a hint of green flashing underneath her hair. “What Lilith did was unacceptable. Hurting you to get to Eda—that's worse than cheating.” 

“You're not going after her.” Amity bristles at the challenge. “I know you're mad. Heck, I am too! But hurting her will only make things worse.”

“Says the girl who challenged me to a witch’s duel,” Amity grumbles, though she calms at Luz’s touch. (She still turns rigid sometimes when Luz gets overly-affectionate, but lately she seems to welcome it. It's nice . . . seeing Amity let her guard down around Luz.)

“Hey, there’s only room for one reckless friend in this relationship.” Luz grins and leans into her. “Besides, I'm calling on ye olde tropes on this one. Defeat Means Friendship has proven to work before, and it definitely worked between us.”

“Your human references will never cease to baffle me.” 

“But you're learning.”

“I also don't remember you defeating me in any duel,” Amity says with a hint of her old sneer. 

“Want another one right now? I bet I could beat you.”

“Oh, you're on!”

Before Amity could start drawing a circle, Luz tackles her to the ground and straddles her, fingers running along her sides, looking for weak spots. Amity flushes pink and squeals, pressing a palm against Luz’s cheek in a futile attempt to push her away. 

“Stop! Stop!” she says in between giggles. 

Luz’s chest tightens with unexpected longing. She's never had friends like Amity before coming to the Boiling Isles, or experienced such easy camaraderie. Amity makes her feel whole, makes her want to continue being Luz unapologetically. It almost makes up for everything she's lost recently.

Her eyes fall on Amity’s lips before she forces herself to look up and meet Amity’s eyes. Her heart thunders in her chest and her body practically vibrates with energy. _Wow._

“I win!” she crows, pumping both fists in the air. “Got you good, didn't I?” 

“Yeah, yeah. You sure did,” Amity says weakly, a little hoarse from giggling so much. She's soft and so achingly huggable that Luz has to restrain herself. She rolls off Amity instead and lies next to her, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Hey, Amity.”

“Hmm?”

“Will you help me find a way home?”

“Of course, Luz,” Amity murmurs. “I've got your back.”

Luz believes her.

* * *

Magic is observable. This is the first lesson Luz has learned. Like fractals unfolding into geometric symmetries, mapping the growth of nature, there are patterns hidden underneath the chaos from which magic thrives. Luz documents them with all the eagerness of a scientist who has yet to find a boundary she cannot overcome. 

Magic is observable, and Luz is not its first observer. 

The library at Bonesborough with its vast array of books juts in the distance, a sight that makes Luz’s heart flutter with excitement. She's been there before, of course, but never with the intent to do research. She looks at Gus and Willow, who'd agreed to accompany her after school, and strikes a pose. “I'd like to spend my vacation—at the _library_!”

“Vacation?” Willow asks, confused. “But we still have school, Luz.”

Luz sighs and drapes an arm over each of her friends. “Someday, I'm going to introduce you guys to the greatest classic that is Avatar the Last Airbender.”

If she ever finds a way to open portals between worlds again that is.

She pulls away from them and bounds up the steps. “ _Hello_ , sweet knowledge. My first love.”

“Hello to you too,” Amity says, stepping out from behind a pillar, lips quirking in a small smile. She gives a small wave to Gus and Willow in greeting. 

“Are you joining us?” Willow asks.

Amity rubs her neck and frowns. “Sort of. I promised Luz I'd help you guys look for information, but I also have some other research I'd like to do.”

Oh.

“I'll find you guys if I find anything useful. I just—it's kind of urgent, you know?”

"Yeah, sure. We're only bookshelves away." 

Luz drops her finger-guns once Amity is out of sight. “So, where to first?”

Gus unrolls a thick piece of parchment paper he'd pulled out from a shirt pocket. “Well, I've been in the human section before, so we can cross that off the list.”

“There's a _human_ section?”

“Focus, Luz,” Willow says. “We can see how terribly inaccurate the library books are when it comes to your human culture later.”

Luz sniggers. “Let's just hope your human section isn't as white-washed as my entire Netflix library is.”

“What's that mean?”

“Nothin’.”

Gus coughs politely and continues down his checklist. “Well, most of the books on wild magic have already been confiscated on grounds of giving ‘misleading’ information—“

“Noted,” Luz mutters darkly.

“—so if we're gonna start somewhere, we can try looking at the coven system and see how such magic could be reconstructed.”

Willow perks up. “Maybe we can look at plant magic since a lot of it is rooted in growth too.”

“So construction magic and plant magic.”

“We can also look into oracle magic,” Gus suggests. “It could at least point us to the right direction.”

Luz’s heart drops. She already doesn't like her odds. While the prospect of learning more from the different tracks excites her, it still feels limiting somehow. “How about the minor covens? Can we find something useful there?”

“Maybe.”

Luz squares her shoulders. Well, better start somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so was it love at first punch for amity? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. Chapter 3

_For all the progress the coven system has done in mitigating the effects of wild magic, errant curses still slip through the cracks, as resilient as the witches who bear them._

* * *

Amity retreats to her secret nook in the library, back pressed against her bookshelf door, shoulders drooping. She welcomes the empty space in front of her, save for the books and the furniture that is part of her domain. Here she could almost pretend that everything is fine.

Until now. Until the very definition of fine no longer applies to her body. She takes off the Hexside-regulation cowl and stares at the green markings that pepper her skin. Most of it is hidden underneath her long-sleeved shirt, but they don't look like they've stopped growing just yet. 

_It’s probably harmless,_ she thinks, easing herself onto the floor, hugging her knees. _It’s probably just a prank gone wrong._

Panic ripples through her body, a stone hitting a calm surface. Her chest, heavy with dread, claws for breath. The distance to the floor stretches and shrinks, and the muffled sounds of library-work disappear beyond a frenzy of her own thoughts. 

She's read about this before: a love, unrequited; a sickness that grows unfettered, curling along her ribcage, blooming flowers that constrict her lungs. More would grow along the spine, numbing some senses and elevating others. 

She scrambles to her knees, taking a moment to feel the hard surface of the wooden floor, with its heavy whorls smoothened with magic and time. The edge of a floorboard sparks her sense of touch, reminds her that she's here, here, here. 

The romance novel is behind a stack of _Worst Witch_ paperbacks her siblings had gifted her—gone unread. It gathers dust beside a human fidget spinner. She cracks the book open, careful of its aging spine, and has to close her eyes when the words swim across the page. 

She can't do this right now—can't face the truth of her sickness. 

But she has to.

Love is a beautiful thing, but in the pages of a romance novel, it is a death sentence.

She's read this once before—eight and far too young, some might say—drawn into the narrative by the witch pining for an opposing coven leader. Her love interest is beautiful and charming, a firebrand among her peers. She, herself, prefers the call of wild magic, but is forced to serve the Emperor’s Coven. It's radical work, forbidden work, and it fascinates Amity, who knows only the weight of expectations on her shoulders.

At eight years old, she sees the curse that befalls the protagonist as punishment for dabbling in the art of wild magic. Now, she knows a little better. The curse is a testament to the failure of the coven system; its rigidity unable to pierce through the mystery of the curse’s origins and eventually, find a cure. 

The novel ends in tragedy, the protagonist dismissed from the Emperor’s Coven, her bile sac removed to undo the curse, her love extinguished with time. 

Amity shudders and slumps back, focusing on the rise and fall of her chest. The story is irrelevant. Only the curse matters now.

She pulls her diary out of her bag and begins to make notes.

* * *

By sunset, she’s back home, walking past the iron-wrought gate with a stylized M. The manor looms with its single spire and towering facade, colder than Amity remembers. She steers clear of her family’s usual haunts and trudges up the stairs towards her bedroom. She’s grateful for her parents’ busy schedules, which means that family dinners have been indefinitely cancelled. Instead, she’s taken to sampling the local street market’s cuisine some days, and learning to cook on others. 

She hears the energetic clomping that could only be Edric’s and ducks inside one of the empty guest rooms. She likes her siblings well enough—which is to say she tolerates them—but this is one topic she isn’t prepared to share with them just yet. 

Once she's in her room, she sags against the doorframe and sighs. Bad enough that being around her family chafes. Now she's got secrets she’ll need to keep too. 

It's not _easy_ , is the thing. Witches are supposed to be tough, resilient to all manners of disease. Sure, their bodies might change in unexpected ways when faced with foreign agents, but they were never truly debilitating. It's why witches made the perfect guinea pigs for experimental potion-brewing. 

But _this_? This is one of the rare few that could actually hurt a witch. And worst of all, Amity doesn't even know if any of this is real because it's all conjecture at this point. (Never mind that she's gotten every early symptom with terrifying accuracy.)

She dumps her things by the foot of her bed and has the sense to kick off her boots before she burrows under her blankets. She tries to loosen her body and have it sink into the mattress, focusing first on her toes and feeling every muscle group after. She's in the middle of relaxing her jaw when she thinks of Luz.

Luz and her wilted smile, disappointment marring her pretty face. 

Amity pulls a pillow over her face and groans. 

It's not that she doesn't want to think of Luz. In fact, thinking about Luz is usually nice because usually it involves dreaming up pleasant scenarios, like studying together after school or having a sleepover while wearing one of Luz’s cute, dorky (otter) outfits. 

It usually doesn't involve thinking about how Luz wants to leave the Boiling Isles to go back home. 

_Shut up,_ she thinks. _It’s not that Luz wants to leave. She just wants to have the option to._

But—

_Do you think she would choose you over her human world?_

Pinpricks of pain shoot down her spine, digging into her flesh. She gasps for air and curls into herself, trying to shut it out. Her vision blurs as her consciousness claws for more, seeks relief in her other senses. 

She lays there for a long time, pain pressing on her like the paw of a large predator. Eventually, she succumbs to sleep, dreaming of harsh, intersecting lights and endless corridors. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive got a full course load this semester so slower updates but we'll see how it goes


	4. Chapter 4

Music is the first thing that Luz misses, from the frenetic beat of Broadway musicals, to the slow curling comfort of lo-fi techno-pop, or the rainy-day brooding of a good old fashioned folk song. Silence is fine, for the most part, but it stretches for far too long, a slinky that spills and spills outwards, entangling with her sense of the present. It's too _quiet_ is the thing. It's too quiet and she's alone with her thoughts, so she follows circular thought after circular thought, until her mind becomes a cramped hamster wheel heading nowhere in particular.

She grinds her eyes with the flat of her palms and rests her forehead on the cover of a grimoire focused on the complexities of seeing into the future. Apparently, it's not nearly as simple as opening your third eye—or Boscha would have been rocking the Oracle track instead of working with potions.

Next to her, Willow is engrossed in a book on plant magic. Gus is nowhere to be found, though Luz suspects he's back in the Human section, drooling over the magic tricks book they had stumbled upon just hours earlier. 

“Hey, Willow, I'm just going to check up on Amity, okay?” 

Willow inclines her head. “Worried about her?”

“A little,” Luz admits. “I'm also just itchin’ to walk around, you know?”

“Well, you do seem fond of the library.”

Luz remembers the first time Amity finally saw her for who she was, just another girl practising witchcraft. “Yeah. You can say that.”

She stands and stretches, feeling her bones crack in satisfaction. “See you around, buddy.”

“Please don’t get into trouble.”

Luz lifts an eyebrow in mock shock. “ _Me_? Get into trouble? I would _never_.”

She tidies her books and makes a neat pile of the ones she’ll be bringing home with her later. “Guard my hoard, princess.”

She salutes and takes off.

The library is massive, more so than she last remembers it. Luz suspects magic is involved somehow, possibly intersecting into other library spaces. She certainly likes the idea of a sentient orangutan looking after the place. 

Before she knows it, she’s standing in front of the bookshelf hiding Amity’s secret cubbyhole. Her fingertips brush along the spine of the book that would open the secret passage before her arm falls limp. She sits down and leans against the romance section, back pressed against the shelf. _Hey, Amity,_ she thinks, _you feeling okay?_

She sighs. She wishes Amity is beside her now, looking up information with the rest of her friends. She wishes the awkward clumsy conversation between Amity and Willow would fade, replaced by the familiar chatter of their youth. She wishes—she wishes for more because she's greedy. Because she's finally got friends and she wants to keep them all. 

Her eyes land on a romance novel with two witches holding hands. She flushes red and stumbles backwards, cringing at the sound of a book falling on the ground. There's a cacophony of shushing noises from the library’s patrons followed by the sound of busy-work as they return to their books and crystal balls. Luz rubs her cheek and chuckles a little. With one last backward glance, she ambles away in search of Gus. 

* * *

It's nearing nightfall when she begins the slow trek back home. (Not quite home but close enough. Eda and King are just as much family as her mami. The words ‘if not more’ trail after: a spark of condemnation that hangs heavy in the air.) 

She digs her hands deeper into her pockets and slumps forward, feeling the weariness finally sink into her bones. 

Magic is observable. This is fact. But often it hovers just outside the periphery of her vision, just outside of her grasp. She knows bits and pieces of how things work, and she’s finally getting a hang of using intent to shape the magic once it's been activated by the glyph, but there's still more for her to learn. 

She walks past the thinning streets of Bonesborough, always with an eye towards something different, something measurable—something she can study. Not for the first time she misses Eda and her little stall of human wonders, her self-assured smile, and the electric hum of her power, just underneath the surface her of skin. She's still _there_ of course, charisma and all, but the life has all but been burnt out of her. Luz can see that she's scared—so terribly scared—and it hurts to know that she had a hand in costing Eda her powers.

She knows with absolute certainty that Eda will recover from this, that she'll find some new business venture to get excited about and tweak the noses of authority figures everywhere like she’s done before. That's why she's the strongest witch in the Boiling Isles. 

And if she can get another door running between her world and the world of the Boiling Isles, well, maybe Eda could restart her little human trinket shop again. 

She knows, _knows_ , that she's doing this out of guilt. That while she misses her mami she's nowhere near ready to return to the human world. The Boiling Isles is weird and scary and dangerous, but it's also fun and magical and _different_. She wishes she could tell her mami just how much the Boiling Isles has come to matter to her. She wishes she could make her _understand_ —something that Eda does so easily. 

She slouches even further and sighs. 

She needs a way back. Maybe then she’ll stop feeling so guilty.

* * *

The Hexside School of Magic and Demonics is gloomier than usual with boiling acid rain pouring heavily outside. Lilith, who’d shown up the previous night with artificial burns on her arms and legs, was conveniently around to escort Luz in the morning.

“I won’t be around later in the afternoon to pick you up,” Lilith says once Luz is safely out of the rain. “I don’t want to needlessly endanger you if I can help it, and I’m still a person of interest as far as the Emperor’s Coven is concerned.”

“I’ll get one of my friends to drop me off later if it doesn’t let up,” Luz promises. “Thanks again for the ride, Lilith.” 

“Any time, Luz.”

She gives the older witch a gentle squeeze before she rushes off to her first period.

It's there that she sees Amity, half-asleep in the front row, heavy bags under her eyes. It's impolite to comment about how tired someone is, her mami always said—having taken too many 12 hour shifts in the hospital herself—so Luz simply gives the other witch an encouraging smile and sits next to her, bumping shoulders in greeting. 

“Hey, Luz,” Amity murmurs and rests her head against Luz’s shoulder. “M’you think I could borrow your notes after?”

She beams, chuffed that Amity would trust her notes of all people. “Sure! You can count on me, Amity.”

Amity hums contentedly and stays still, resting against her until class starts. 

The warmth of her presence stays with Luz for the rest of her day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they released all of the eps today on itunes canada c: am hap


	5. Chapter 5

Living with pain has become Amity’s new norm. Sharp, prickling heat digs into the curve of her spine, making a trellis of her vertebrae. Underneath her skin where little pink cluster-blossoms grow amongst the leaves, the muscle pulses in little stinging bursts that race along her joints and settle there. For the most part, they are easy to ignore when she is busy—and she is always so busy—but on the rare days when all she can think of is the pain, it’s so easy to give in to her misery. And oh how she feels so much of it.

It isn’t just the panic that drags her in a fugue state just—away, away, _away_ —it’s the crying and the hopelessness, the feeling of being trapped in limbo. It’s the weight that settles on her chest at night like a hag slowly strangling her to death. It— _overwhelms_ the senses. It makes her feel so small, even as her sense of the world shrinks to that ever-present pain in her body, clouded by messy, inarticulate thoughts crawling along the meat of her brain little more than wriggling worms.

It’s paralyzing.

She spends much of her time in the library, looking for other similar tales that could broaden her understanding of the disease ( _hanahaki_ they called it). At night, she reads until her vision blurs, her chest aches, and her head spins with weariness. Sometimes, she even sleeps.

* * *

“We’re having a slumber party at Luz’s place. Would you like to come, Amity?” Willow asks all too sweetly. 

The snide comment on Amity’s lips is almost knee-jerk reaction at this point: “And why would you want me there?” she asks, bitter with the memory of mocking Willow with her own slumber parties. 

“You’re our friend now,” Willow says. She’s got that little knot on her forehead that tells Amity she’s telling a bit of a white lie. “Of course you’re invited.”

She scratches the chin of her demon locker and reaches for her book on advanced Abomination manifestations. “We’re hardly friends, Willow. At best we’re amicable acquaintances.” 

“I thought you were supposed to be nicer now,” Gus grumbles and tries to pull Willow away. 

“Luz wants you there,” Willow adds, an edge of challenge in her voice. “You wouldn't say ‘no’ to her, would you?”

She hesitates. Thinks of the books she could be reading tonight. Oh, but she's so, _so_ tired, and it's only one night. She could—she could be around Luz for one night. “I'll be there.”

She leaves before she changes her mind.

Vines snake across her shoulder blades, scraping underneath her flesh, making her muscles buzz with an angry kind of ache that travels along her arms, biting along her wrists. 

She takes a breath. And another. Gives a passing student a look of utter disdain and hastens her steps. Panic attacks do not exist within the four walls of Hexside. Only strength. Only poise.

She finds the nearest maintenance closet and coughs and coughs and coughs but nothing comes out. She's fine. It's fine. Her chest hurts and there's something awful caught in her throat, something that's not quite _there_ but it irritates all the same. It’s fine. She’s _fine_.

She pulls out a pain elixir from her pack and drinks it all down. Tries not to gag at the burning sensation. 

She unfolds herself and wipes away the tears that have turned up. (She's not crying. It's just perspiration. It's just a bit of wet around her eyes. Nothing more.)

She. Goes to class.

* * *

Luz's otter onesie is warm against Amity’s skin. It's freshly laundered, but Luz's scent lingers still, heavy in Amity’s chest: a smell that feels like home. Wearing such an ugly thing is embarrassing, of course, regardless of what Luz thinks. It's juvenile too—hardly befitting a daughter of the Blights—but it hides the garden growing on Amity's skin, so she must endure. 

“You look nice,” Willow says, sounding much too sincere. “Are you still feeling cold, Amity?”

Amity tries to match her smile and fails. “No, this is perfect. Thank you.”

“I want an animal jammy too,” Gus protests. 

Luz’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “Who says you couldn't?”

Amity watches them shuffle towards the bathroom and relaxes a little. She doesn't like being singled out, so the thought of an animal jammy slumber party isn't too bad—even if they all look ridiculous. 

For a closet that's been converted into a room, the place is both spacious and cramped. Books on witchcraft and demonology tower over their sleeping bags. Conspiracy notes, cooking notes, magic notes, story notes, and more are strewn across the surface of another wall. She plucks a page from the Wall and reads the first few lines, eyebrows raising. “Is this _Ruler’s Reach_ fanfic?”

“More like a sequel,” Luz admits and takes the page from Amity, staring at it with a wrinkle on her brow. “Not that it matters. Without a publisher, it'll just have to remain a draft for now.” 

“ _You_ wrote _Ruler’s Reach_?”

“Me and King, yeah.”

Amity flushes and looks away. “It was. Um. Well-written. The choice to use a fragmented voice and the theme of love as violence was uh pretty bold.”

Luz bumps her shoulder softly. “Thanks, Amity.”

Now that Amity’s got a proper view of Luz, she finds herself blushing again. These onesies are so dreadful, but Luz makes it work somehow, clad in a yellow-striped cat suit. “So what's our agenda for tonight?”

“We’re just gonna play board games and probably talk about slumber party things like who your crush is or what your star sign says about you.”

“What.”

“Huh, maybe there isn't a horoscope equivalent on this world. We could look at teen magazines instead?” Luz offers.

“Y-you want to talk about crushes?” Amity stutters, feeling a vine creep up throat, choking her. 

Luz meets her eyes and turns red. “Okay, maybe not that! I was just uh, throwing suggestions out there. Hahaha! Crushes. Oh boy. That's probably a stupid topic for you, huh?”

“Because my crush is stupid?” Amity asks, her voice rising in pitch.

“N-no, no! Because, I mean, if you like someone. Like you're so confident, right? I bet you could just tell them you like them and I bet they'll fall for you instantly. Coz you're so cool and all.”

“You think I'm cool!?”

Luz slaps her cheeks and groans. “Idiot sandwich! I am an _idiot sandwich_.”

Gus interrupts them then, beaming in all his blue walrus glory. “How do I look?”

“Like you're ready to _par-tay_!” Luz crows. She slips away before Amity could interrogate her further. (What? _What?_ )

She follows, a little unsteady on her feet.


	6. Chapter 6

Luz dreams.

She can hear the dragging scrape of Eda’s claws against wood, just outside of her periphery but present all the same. There's a wounded quality to Eda’s movements. An oozing weariness that makes Luz ache. She walks along stretches of interconnected hallways, passing through corridors with exceeding worry. They all look the same. _They all look the same._ Her footfalls become staccato-quick as she charges ahead, catching glimpses of her mentor’s looming owl form in the distance.

“Luz, _hija_ , where are you?” her mother cries in the distance, harsh to Luz’s ears.

She turns and stumbles backwards at the sight of the Doorway unfolding in front of her. Large, gilded fingers wrap along the doorframe, heralding the emperor’s arrival. Just behind her, the great, many-limbed monstrosity with an all-too human nose opens its jaws, teeth like jagged shark fins flashing in the dim light, ready to swallow Luz a second time. . . .

She's slamming the Door shut and flinging an explosive rune at Belos’s pet, finding an intersection for her to slip away (Convenient—but then, convenience is borne from the rationale of dreams). She's so close— _so close_ —to finding Eda, to bringing her home; she just needs to figure out this maze.

(And oh, when did the walls start looking too much like the home she’d left back on Earth?)

She wakes up, forehead damp with sweat, the onesie clinging to her like a second skin. She peels it off and crawls out of her sleeping bag, taking care not to jostle her friends. Before she can register where she's going, she's standing in front of Eda’s room, forehead pressed against the door’s cool surface. She hears the shuffle of clawed feet and takes a step back. The door cracks open and King peers out, eyes drooping. “D’you need anything, Luz?”

“Just checking in.”

He nods gravely and opens the door a little more, revealing the nest where Eda sleeps. “Won't let ‘em get her,” he says, fierce despite his weariness.

“Good boy.”

The King of Demons yawns and steps forward, leaning into her touch. He’s small—smaller than Luz remembers—and maybe it’s just that they’re both tired and need sleep, but the confidence is missing in the length of his stride, in the way he takes up space.

She hears an audible thump from behind and jerks upright, whirling around and reaching for paper spells that aren’t there. The upstairs hallway is lit by a sliver of orange gently glowing from the open bathroom. She takes a long shaky breath and steps forward.

There's a pale figure curled on the floor, hair the colour of jade having fallen loose across an even paler face. Luz falls on her knees and reaches out with one hand, pausing at the sight of vines crawling along the surface of the other girl’s skin. Amity—because who else could it be?—gasps for air and scratches at the floor, bony shoulders rising together as if flinching from some unknown force. Just beyond the dark straps of her sleeveless top, Luz could see pink flowers tinged with red blossoming along her joints.

Amity is beautiful.

Which is. Well. A stupid thing to think about when she's right there and in pain and. Is that blood? Is that blood on the floor!?

“King, get Eda please!”

Luz presses a hand gently on Amity’s shoulder, noting the cool skin slick with sweat. She's not sure what hurts so she grabs a nearby towel and eases Amity onto it, rolling her so she's lying on her side. She tucks a stray strand of hair behind a pointy ear and feels her heart clench at Amity’s bloodied lips. “Amity,” she breathes like a prayer. “Amity, it's Luz.”

Amity’s eyes flutter open, pupils dilated. She shivers a little and presses into Luz, leaning forward. She coughs wetly, once, twice, three times, her torso small and fragile against Luz’s upright frame. Luz strokes her back and whispers soothing words even as worry digs into her stomach and nestles there.

“What's wrong, Luz?” Eda asks by the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“It's Amity. I think she's sick.” Luz frowns. “I didn't know witches could get sick.”

“We don't. Not usually. Not unless it comes from a curse.” Eda hunkers down next to Luz and appraises Amity. She hums contemplatively and reaches for a book in the bramble that is her hair. She looks at it briefly before chucking it behind her and pulling another one out. “How long has she been like this?”

“I don't know,” Luz says, voice small with shame. “She didn't tell us.”

“Well, unless someone cursed her, this one’s hereditary,” Eda says while flipping through her book.

“Did someone curse you, Amity?” Luz feels the witch shaking her head and shuffling closer, pulling at Luz’s shirt. “What do we do with hereditary curses, Eda?”

“We let it run its course.”

“What!?”

Eda sighs and shoves the book back among her things, the hair gobbling it up without complaint. “Magic like this is as wild as they come. If her ancestors kept records, they might have been confiscated by the Emperor’s Coven by now. Much as I'd like to break in and tweak their pointy little noses, finding a book on this would be like diving through a needle stack for a slip of hay.”

Luz bristles. “There's got to be something we can do.”

Eda blinks at her, slow and thoughtful and ancient. “She can sleep in my bed tonight. We’ll see how she’s feeling in the morning.”

“Eda—“

“Maybe Lilith will know what to do,” Eda admits, glancing away. “I've read my share of curses, Luz.” _I haven't been idle since my sister cursed me,_ is left unsaid. “Hereditary curses are as closely-kept as skeletons in the closet. If the records were confiscated as I suspect, we may never know what she's going through.”

Luz returns to her room, drained but grateful for the moonlight shining through her window. She reaches for her phone on a nearby shelf, remembers that it's been dead for days now, and stifles a sigh. Not like her _mami_ could diagnose Amity even if Luz could talk to her.

Still, there's something about the vines and flowers growing along Amity's skin that feels familiar to Luz. Had she seen it growing somewhere in the Boiling Isles? She remembers impressions of it which doesn't help at all—just colours and shapes, nothing concrete, nothing that could help Amity root out the curse growing in her.

She supposes she could ask Willow tomorrow but the thought doesn't sit well with her. It's not that she doesn't want Willow’s help; the Power of Friendship can overcome any obstacle after all. No. She's just got this niggling feeling that Willow couldn't help her even if she tried.

Luz crawls into her sleeping bag and groans. Articulating her instinct is messy. It's—vague semaphores in a language still half-formed, still in the process of _becoming_. It's—unfamiliar metaphors, the relationship of object A to object B a loopy child-scrawl in bright ugly crayons. It's—it's hard and she's tired and Amity is sick, sick, _sick_ and she can't do anything about it.

 _God_ , why can't she do anything about it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eda's hair is a separate entity so ofc it can do magic i dont make the rules


	7. Chapter 7

The nest bed Amity wakes up in feels nothing like the borrowed sleeping bag she’d been in the night before. It has that sharp elixir smell—the kind she recalls briefly while visiting a sick-ward once—and it’s overcrowded with little trinkets that remind her of a certain grey-haired hoarder. She fishes a blocky figurine digging into her back and flops on her side, coming face to face with a human cooking utensil. _I should probably get up,_ she thinks, blinking away the grit from her eyes. She fights back a yawn and flinches at the sight of leaves twining around her wrist. _Shit! I need to get up._

She struggles out of the cocoon of blankets she’s in and wriggles out of the equally treacherous nest bed. She looks around for her things and finds that they’re not there. Covering herself with one of Eda’s many blankets, she slinks outside Eda’s room and looks around furtively.

“Amity?”

She pulls her blanket closer and smiles at Willow who’d just exited the bathroom, carrying her toiletries with her. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah! And you?”

Amity shifts from foot to foot and shrugs. “More or less.”

“Ladies!”

Amity grimaces at Gus’s enthusiasm. “I see someone slept _really_ well.”

“Last night was super fun.” Gus stretches the whole length of his body, reaching for the ceiling as best as he could. “Luz is making us breakfast. Can you believe it? I'm finally gonna taste some human cuisine!”

“Won't she need human ingredients for that?”

“I'm sure Luz can manage,” says Willow, though she doesn't look too reassured.

Amity’s smile strains a little. “I should uh, probably get going. I have things to do, people to see. . . . You know how it is.”

“You're not staying for breakfast?” Gus asks, drooping a little. He had a jolly time talking to Amity last night and is a little disappointed he can't talk to her again over breakfast.

“Sorry, guys.” Amity escapes to Luz’s bedroom and grabs her things—she's so glad she kept them neat and tidy last night—before rushing out again to use the bathroom, almost tripping on the blanket she's still wearing around her. She takes a moment to survey her surroundings and frowns.

She remembers . . . fragments: the bright bathroom lights, her pounding skull, the flower drenched in blood—where had she thrown it away?—the pain which feels so distant now . . . and Luz. She falls against the bathroom countertop and focuses on the inhale and exhale of her body. Had Luz seen the trellis growing on her skin? She looks up and catches the gaze of the gaunt figure looking back at her. _I shouldn't have agreed to this._

But what could she say to curb Luz’s interest in getting them to bond together? Sorry, I don't _do_ friends? That would certainly simplify things. Nobody to say goodbye to when she dies. Or loses her magic. (Hello, heartbreak. Good of you to join us too.)

She hastily changes her clothes and sits on the edge of the bathtub while the world feels dizzyingly _round_ along the edges of her vision, the space between her and the floor stretching and contracting with every inhale and exhale. It's there that she spots the flower half hidden in the garbage bin and there that she wastes toilet paper to cover it up, reaching across the toilet bowl. Once she's sure she could stand again, she washes her hands and exits the bathroom on wobbly legs, flashing another smile at Willow and Gus.

She heads down the stairs, careful of each creaking step, her hand white-knuckled over the railing. She breathes, _breathes_ , and feels jagged spurs with its crinkling newborn leaves brushing against her chest.

“Amity, are you sure you should be up and about?” Willow asks, just a few steps behind her. “You don't look too good.”

“Just a little thirsty,” she says and clears her throat. “I'm fine.”

(The words are a mantra: one she’s told herself countless times. _I’m fine._ Because the alternative means that she's given up and there's no returning from that. She still _cares_ , you see. She wants to care at least. Wants to claw her way out of the numbing apathy that she's been in lately but. She's no closer to a cure. And underneath her skin, the vines have grown plump with her magic and her sorrow and her pain. . . .)

Amity breathes in sharply and unfolds herself to her full height. “I'll see you both at school.”

With renewed energy, she finishes her descent and walks towards the front door, ignoring the sound of her name being called and Hooty’s convivial goodbye.

She's almost out of the woods, so to speak, away from the prying eyes of her friends when she's stopped by a ring of blue, curling serpentine-like around her waist.

“Amity, was it?”

She feels her hackles rise at the sight of Lilith just a few feet away. “I see you're still in the habit of kidnapping children,” she growls before she can stop to ask herself why Lilith might be here.

“I'm not going to apologize for taking advantage of Eda’s weakness,” Lilith says softly, her mismatched eyes narrowed. “I may have picked the wrong side, but I am not a bumbling fool. You do what you must to win.”

“Even if you have to cheat?”

Lilith shrugs. “My sister brings out the worst in me. Now _that_ is something I am sorry for. And something I am working towards.” She walks past Amity’s struggling form and beckons with her free hand, changing the nature of the spell so that it would carry Amity for her. Together, they return to the Owl House.

Amity hates it—being dangled around like a newborn kit. She strains against the ghostly grip of Lilith’s magic and spits out curses at the older woman. By the time she's back in Eda’s kitchen, she's red in the face and gasping for air.

And her friends are looking at her like she's grown a second head.

“I didn't know you had it in you,” Gus murmurs with evident admiration.

Willow snorts. “Well you've certainly gotten more creative with your insults.”

Amity harrumphs and looks away, feeling the fight bleed out of her. She sulks—another thing she _hates_ to do—and tries not to think of how Luz must be looking at her right now like she's some kind of spoiled brat who needs to be disciplined. (Well, well, well. What's another blemish to the Blight name? This isn't the first time she's screwed things up with Luz, and she's sure it won't be the last.)

She feels a warm hand on her cheek and jerks away, flushing at Luz’s proximity.

Her heartbeat flutters underneath her skin, an erratic pulse that only heightens her senses.

 _C’mon,_ she thinks. _I don't need this right now._

Pain blooms along her collarbone as a bruise-coloured stem rises to the surface of her flesh. She grunts and feels her gag reflex contract in anticipation. With tears building along her eyes, she begins to hack, retching dryly while she thrashes about, spittle flying everywhere.

After her second bout of coughing, she falls to the ground, Lilith’s spell no longer binding her, no longer keeping her in place. Someone scrounges up a metal bucket for her to hold onto, and another is pressing a cool wet towel along the nape of her neck. It soothes her a little though it doesn't stop the coughing entirely.

She's crying when it finally comes out: a handful of petals stained red with blood. “Sorry about the mess,” she says in a scratchy voice. She tries to keep her eyes open, tries to keep her body upright, but the floor feels so inviting and she's just so, so tired.

“Eda, I think she's going into shock!” Luz says—

—and then Lilith’s voice, grating to Amity’s ears. “Let me.”

“I don't trust you,” Amity says as a blue light washes over her, enveloping her in a gentle glow.

“I know.”

“‘M watching you.”

“Sure you are.”

“I'm gonna,” she slurs, blinking slowly, “I'm gonna kick your butt if you. . . .”

“Hurt them,” Lilith supplies for her once it becomes obvious that she's too out of it to finish her sentence.

“That's—that’s right.” Amity sags into Luz’s waiting arms and drifts into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *angry amity noises*


End file.
